I'm crying. I'm crying all the time. The tears flow for the father I never will ever know. The father I never had the sense to understand. Fuck him. The sense he never had to understand me.
E grew up working a farm at 8 years old. From there he moved on to customer service jobs, mostly liquor stores and serving surburbanites their Monte Cristo sandwiches. After a stint in jail, he failed in his first three attempts at becoming an alcoholic and now remains hopelessly sober. He is now just getting his life back in order after a tortuous military tour of duty in the Balkans. He lives, till the end of the month, in a 3-flat apartment on the outskirts of the city.
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